


I'll fix it.

by tobequitefrank



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Band Of Brothers - Freeform, M/M, Military, World War II, medic!Frank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 04:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobequitefrank/pseuds/tobequitefrank
Summary: Frank's a medic in WW2, and Gerard wants his hands to heal him any way they can.





	I'll fix it.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, a two-shot with the first chapter based on the Band of Brothers 'Bastogne' episode. If you have never watched the miniseries, please do!!

Frank can feel the snow crunching beneath his boots, that sort of squeaky sensation every time he places another step. And it’s cold. Fucking _freezing_. He’s sure no one expected it to be this cold, but for God’s sake, they have no winter clothing and Frank’s not certain how much longer the company can last out here – limited rations and low ammunition to top it all off. 

Frank’s already seen countless hungry, freezing, delirious men suffering from frostbite and trench foot, pleaded with them to keep their feet dry, to change their socks every third day if they can, and dry their wet ones around their necks, but mostly no one listens. He can’t really blame them though, they’ve got more important things to worry about, like holding the Goddamn line. 

“Doc? Doc, that you?” 

Frank’s busy making his way back from a supply run, a makeshift hospital in Bastogne had managed to spare a few bandages, plasma; it’ll help out more than they know, but still no fucking morphine. 

“Doc, I’m fucking pissin’ needles here.” 

Frank looks down at the foxhole, Christianson, Muck and Toye huddled up together beneath too little cover for Frank’s liking. “I hear ya, alright? But there ain’t nothin’ I can do for you. Keep drinking water, and for God’s sake keep your fucking boots on!” 

“Water!? It’s pissin’ that hurts.” Muck’s making to get up out of his hole, Frank’s not sure if it’s to demonstrate how much it hurts as if to prove it to him, but Frank doesn’t give him the chance. 

“I’m lookin’ for Gerard, you seen him?” 

“Gerard?” The men look up at Frank, curious. 

“Way? For fuck’s sake I’m freezing out here, just tell me where he is.” Frank rocks back and forth on his feet, in a bid to keep his blood pumping. 

“You mean Babe? Frankie, been 2 years you’ve known us, when you gonna learn our nicknames, ain’t no one calling him Gerard but his mother.” 

Frank breathes into his hands, rubbing them together. And, of course he knows everyone’s nicknames, he’s just never used them. _Babe_? What kind of nickname was that anyway? “Toye, I really need to find him, ain’t anybody checked to see if he’s alright?” 

“He’s in your foxhole, Frankie. Toro took him there. Think he’s still shaken up over what happened.” 

Frank gives a mumbled thanks before he backs off in the direction of his foxhole. He’s slipping under the cover as soon as he’s there, the shielding warmth the slate coloured tarp offers a nice reprieve, despite its frozen state. And just like Toye said, Toro’s there, sitting silently by Gerard, who’s wrapped up in a blanket, staring vacantly at the adjacent wall of the foxhole. 

“Hey.” Frank announces, Toro offering a quiet nod in return. “Got some supplies from Bastogne.” He’s handing Toro half of the medical supplies from his satchel, before taking the pair of boots he’s got tied together by the laces around his neck and passing them over also. “Julian. Lost his boots, tell him they’re a 9.” 

Toro just nods and slips his way out of the foxhole, giving Gerard an understanding squeeze on his shoulder before he does. 

“Hey.” Frank tries again, letting Gerard press up against his side, looking to replace the warmth now that Toro has left. 

Gerard doesn’t respond, Frank’s not even sure if he physically can, and he wraps his arm around him, hand squeezing tightly to his shoulder on the other side. He doesn’t bother asking again, he knows Gerard knows he’s there, but he can see by the look on his face, that his mind is elsewhere, replaying every last second of what happened and how he could have done it differently. 

Frank reaches into his satchel again, sifts out a small block of chocolate one of the nurses had given him as a little gift from Bastogne. He wanted to keep it for himself, could have made it last much longer that way, but he holds it out anyway. “Way.” But again, he doesn’t break his stare – doesn’t even shake his head. So, Frank breaks off a piece with the hand not wrapped around Gerard and offers it again. “Gerard?” 

Gerard looks down at the chocolate now, this sad, solemn expression on his face, and it honestly breaks Frank’s heart. 

“Eat it.” Frank says, placing the piece into Gerard’s hand and guiding it up into his mouth. Gerard takes a pained bite, the chocolate cracking in half where his teeth press against it. “Good.” Frank soothes, sweetly. “Alright.” 

There’s some more silence, only broken by the quiet crunch of the chocolate in Gerard’s mouth and Frank’s shallow breathing, trying to catch his breath from the trip he just made. 

“I promised him if he got hit, I’d get his stuff and bring it back to his ma. Ya know?” 

Frank doesn’t know what to do in that moment, doesn’t know what to _say_. He just keeps his arm around Gerard and tries to show him that it’s okay. 

“Now the fucking Krauts will strip him!” He’s not irate, but Frank can hear the raw emotion in his voice. 

“Hey, no, it’s okay.” Frank says lowly, calmly, not to scare him. 

“No, it’s not!” 

Frank pulls him in closer, doesn’t want him to make too much noise, the infrequent shots rounding off in the distance enough to keep them undisturbed for now. “It’s _okay_.” Frank breathes the words into Gerard’s helmet where he’s leaning into the crook of his neck. He wishes he could take it off, just for a moment, but he’s not stupid enough to risk it. 

“I shoulda got to him.” Gerard just responds, silence falling again. 

Honestly, there’s nothing more Frank can do, nothing that can take his pain away. “You know, I’m stilling tryna figure out why they picked me for a medic.” He’s not sure why he’s telling him this, especially now, but he has to say something, _anything_. “My grandmother. She was a Cajun healer. A Traiteur. Laid her hands on people, and cured them. Took away sickness, cancer, you name it. I remember, she used to pray a lot; talked to God about the pain she pulled out, and asked Him to…carry it away. I guess she had to.” And now Frank’s sure, even though Gerard’s not saying a word, that he wants to ask what this has to do with anything. “It’s not a gift.” Frank says flatly. “Not a gift from God. God wouldn’t give such a horrible gift. For me, to watch people, die by my hands. You mighta got to him, but me? I’d be the one to hafta try an’ save him.” 

They fall asleep like that. The constant firing in the distant nothing but a sick lullaby to rock them to sleep. 

 

He wakes again in the middle of the night, to the sound of his name, someone calling for him. 

“Medic!” 

Instinctively, his body seizes up – he’d been sound asleep and not even sure if his legs are awake yet. 

“Medic!!” 

Gerard stirs beside him now too, eyes shooting up as if he expects a gun to be drawn on him right then and there. “Frankie? Frankie, get up.” He’s encouraging, physically moving Frank to get his legs working. 

Frank’s brain switches on, and he’s clambering out of the foxhole, Gerard pushing him from behind. He’s in such a haste, he doesn’t notice the scissors carelessly sticking up out of his bag that catch on Gerard’s hand and leave a deep cut across his palm. And Gerard doesn’t make a fuss, leaves Frank to go help whoever really needs it now. 

 

After the madness, Frank’s walking back to his foxhole, to see Gerard marching past him, a chesty cough coming out of his mouth as he does.

“Way!” Frank turns to chase after him. “Hey, Way, you okay?” 

“Frank? What is it with the Way bullshit, huh?” He’s striping his gloves to the ground, making to take a leak. “You know my name, why don’t ya use it?” 

“Well – I, uh – Gerard?” 

“Gerard are you serious?” He pains, eyes on Frank’s face as he works on his pants now. “Only the Goddamn nuns call me Gerard.” 

“Hey, listen.” Frank responds, Gerard turning away to find somewhere more private. “I need to know if you kept your morphine from Holland?” 

“No. You asked me already, remember?” And now Frank can tell he's really annoyed.

“No, I – I don’t recall.” But he’s talking to no one, Gerard already out of range. 

 

Another night of causalities and Frank’s back at his foxhole, peering in to check on Gerard, who he finds is no longer there. But Toro is, who offers a sympathetic smile before explaining Gerard’s out watching the line. 

Shivering, Frank buries his hands in his jacket pockets, up near his chest, and makes his way to the edge of the forest. He spots a helmet, barely visible above the ground, and stalks his way over, jumping down in the foxhole without announcing himself. 

“Everythin’ okay?” 

Gerard’s got his scarf and collar right up to his neck, arms wrapped around his knees, which are up to his chest. He’s still shivering, despite his efforts to keep warm. And again, Frank gets no reply. 

He looks at him warily, wondering if he’s still not okay. “Babe?”

“Yeah.” Gerard sniffles, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand momentarily. 

Frank can’t help but notice the barely scabbed cut across his palm when he does, reaching out to grab it. “Hey, how’d ya do that?” He’s inspecting it, hoping it’s not infected. 

Gerard offers a light-hearted smirk. “ _You_ did that.” 

Frank’s eyes dart from where his fingers are lightly braising Gerard’s palm, up to Gerard’s face. His nose is red from the cold, his lips chapped, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “I’ll fix it up.” Frank says instinctively. 

Gerard’s gaze returns back to the line, his hand still held out to Frank who’s rifling through his bag for something – bandages he guesses. Then he feels Frank’s touch on his hand again. “Hey, Frankie?” He asks, like he’s suddenly realised something. “You called me Babe.” 

Frank’s still looking at Gerard’s hand. “I did? When?” He’s tearing open a packet of sulfanilamide and pouring it on the wound to stop any infection. 

“Just now.” Gerard nods, his voice a bit offended Frank doesn't remember. 

Frank stops what he’s doing for a moment, studying Gerard’s face. “ _Babe_.” He says again slowly, as if to test that his mouth can even say the word. “I guess I did.” He smirks back, taking Gerard’s hand with the bandage this time. 

“Babe.” Gerard mimics, pleased with himself and laughing a little. 

“Gerard. Watch the Goddamn line.” He snarks, but it’s sweet, Gerard turning back to watch the line with a smile now on his face.


End file.
